


Red Rain

by Horse Hockey (truthiness_lover)



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Blood, Darker themes in later chapters, Episode: s07e02 Peace on Us, F/M, No blood during the shower sex though, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthiness_lover/pseuds/Horse%20Hockey
Summary: Hawkeye and Margaret soon realize that after the night of the Red Party, some things can't be washed away as easy as others during wartime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up writing this all in one shot after seeing the Peace On Us episode yesterday. It is partially inspired by the Peter Gabriel song, "Red Rain." This is also my first published fic with an explicit sex scene. Yay!

The night before seemed like a blur to Hawkeye now, but he could still recollect the fact that there was plenty of liquor to go around in that crowded mess tent, and that everyone in the camp was donning head-to-toe crimson clothing, and even hair color. They were celebrating Hawkeye's attempt at barging in on the peace talks, and even though it seemed like a long shot, everyone at the 4077th was hoping that somehow Hawkeye's words would sway the diplomats' decision to ultimately end the war, their suffering, and finally, send them all back home and never look back.

For a few hours, Hawkeye felt like a hero; his hair had been dyed flaming red, and he was wearing his signature burgundy robe like a world champion boxer. People from the camp kept approaching him to express their gratitude, saying how "brave" he was for evading the M.P.s and driving his Jeep to the front door of the peace talks. For a while, he felt like he was floating.

Also seemingly floating on air was Margaret no-longer-a-Penobscott Houlihan, who was downing gin and dancing around the tent with the rest of them. She decided to finally sit down for a moment next to the man of honor, sometime well after midnight.

"I'm just going to say this," she began, slurring her words slightly as she playfully slapped his thigh, "I've never seen anyone do anything as brave--or as downright stupid--as what you did today."

Hawkeye grinned back at Margaret, and reached over to twirl a lock of her now-auburn hair around his finger.

"Thank you, Margaret, but you've been pretty brave yourself today."

"What? What do you mean?"

"The red in your hair! It's different, but I like it!" Hawkeye shouted over the noise of the still-rowdy crowd. Margaret blushed in response.

"I'm not so sure I like it," she admitted finally. "This cheap dye is making my hair... crispy?"

Hawkeye shot her a sly wink before asking, "If you wanna head out to the showers, I'd be happy to escort you."

She nodded. "Let's go, then, Pierce."

Hawkeye caught the glance of BJ as he grabbed Margaret's hand to leave the tent.

"Where are you going? With her?" BJ mouthed across the room.

Hawkeye grinned from ear to ear. "Don't wait up for me, Beej!"

\---

Hawkeye and Margaret shed their clothes quickly once inside the shower tent. Now giddy and drunk, both of them were treating the experience like going skinny dipping, minus the lake, river, or stream.

Hawkeye started lathering up to his elbows with thick suds from a bar of soap with steam from the warm water rising, slightly blurring his view of Margaret, who was standing before him stark naked.

"Pretty different from scrubbing up in the O.R. together," Hawkeye commented, suddenly deciding to reach over to scrub Margaret's back.

Margaret wrapped her arms around him and stared up into his eyes for a few moments. He could smell the gin on her breath, but they still both had enough wits about them to know what they were doing.

"This is strange indeed, Doctor."

Her shapely bare breasts were now pressed against his bare chest, his chest hair tickling her sensitive nipples. He leaned down and pressed a slow and lazy kiss to her lips, his fingertips resting softly on her hips, with hers tangled up in his now bright red hair.

"Turn around, Margaret," he said softly after pulling away. She complied, and soon felt Hawkeye's fingers massaging her scalp, rubbing shampoo into her hair with his skillful touch. He leaned down and began suckling the soft skin of her neck and collarbone, letting his hands drift from the nape of her neck to her nipples, then lower to around her navel. She was sighing slightly with her eyes pressed closed, reaching up to run her soaped-up fingers through Hawkeye's hair. She could feel his erection pressing against the small of her back occasionally, and the arousal of it all was driving her wild.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him underneath the shower head. They stood there for a moment, letting the surprisingly warm water rush over them, leaving streaks of red dye running down their bodies as it ran into the drain. Hawkeye twirled her around, looking into her eyes before pressing his lips to hers once again. He lifted her legs up, and she wrapped her thighs around his hips. He grabbed her ass and positioned his hardness between her legs, eliciting a groan from both of them. He pushed himself inside of her, and his legs began to tremble. His mouth on hers, their hands began to drift across each other's bodies, softly scrubbing away all the red dye that was beginning to stain their skin.

Hawkeye bucked his hips for a slight thrust, before deciding to change his position. He whirled around, pushing Margaret against the wall as he began to fuck her, his thrusts quickening and bringing her to the brink of orgasm. Her eyes were slammed shut, her lips parted, and slight moans of his name were escaping her. She was no longer the Hot Lips that was unemotional, untouchable, and barked orders at everyone in the camp; she was in a completely vulnerable state, naked and wet and on the brink of falling to pieces in his arms, and he loved every moment of it.

"Come for me, Margaret," he said gruffly, his fingers rubbing the apex of her thighs. He thrusted deeper, and and nuzzled her neck with slow kisses that would no doubt leave hickeys.

She came first, panting and moaning as she writhed in front of him, his hands cupping her breasts. Within a few more thrusts, he came too, and she knew it when she felt the rush between her legs when he finally pulled out. They stood under the shower head for a few moments, still trying to catch their breath and tingling all over, not saying anything to each other before Margaret broke the silence.

"That was... fantastic," she said, her warm breath cascading across his neck.

"You were great," he commented, before pulling out of the embrace to lock eyes with her. "You really were."

Her hands drifted down to his stomach, where lathered soap and crimson dye had accumulated. She began rubbing his torso down with a washcloth, teasing his nipples ever so slightly as she washed him. He began to do the same to her.

"We can't let people think that we've committed a murder," Margaret said with a slightly nervous laugh. "Let's clean up."

"Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours," he agreed, turning around.

She glanced at the reddening scratch marks left behind from her perfectly-manicured fingernails digging in along the muscle of his shoulders.

"Looks like we already did that," she commented, touching the marks gingerly. She knew that the handprints he had left around her thighs would no doubt leave bruises, too. The thought of it made her blush.

Once the dye had mostly washed away and faded to a pale pink, they left the shower stall and toweled off. Hawkeye simply slipped his robe back on, while Margaret struggled with re-clasping her bra, which Hawkeye eventually helped her with.

"Thanks," she said softly, turning around to face him.

"No problem," he replied, catching himself staring at the shape of her breasts peeking out of the top of her bra.

"You can't look at me like that when we're out there!" she scolded, quickly pulling on her red shirt and matching pants.

"Like what?"

"Like you've seen me naked!"

"Oh, but sweetheart, I have!" he said with a sly grin.

"Just... you have to leave now. They can't see us leaving the showers together. They'll talk."

Without a word, she pushed him out into the cold night air. He could still hear the sound of booming voices drifting out of the mess tent, and he considered going into Margaret's tent to wait for round two of their late-night escapades. He stopped himself at the door, though, and padded his way back to the Swamp for some sleep.

\---  
The next day, after seven excruciatingly long hours in the O.R., Hawkeye felt his stomach churn as he flung his bloodied gloves and surgeon's smock into the laundry bin.

The color red had switched in his mind once again from a color of warmth, cheer, and lust from the Red Party the night before, back to one of death and despair within half a day's work.

Funny how things like that happen in Korea. Something was always there to take the joy away.

He had been wrist-deep inside an 18-year-old's internal organs for the last hour. The bullet's path of destruction completely ravaged the stomach of this poor kid, causing immense internal bleeding. He hemmoraged on the operating table before Hawkeye and his team of nurses--Margaret included--could do a damn thing about it.

Hawkeye tried in vain to remove the remnants of that poor boy's suffering as he scrubbed desperately at the bloodstains that reached up to his elbows. He felt tears stinging his eyes as the water rushed over him, feeling partly completely helpless, partly disgusted with himself that he couldn't have done anything more.

Margaret soon approached the sink, removed her gloves, mask, and cap, and just let them drop to the floor. Hawkeye glanced over and noticed that she was crying, too. She proceeded to wash her hands, and took note of Hawkeye's rapid scrubbing of his own skin. She reached over, grabbed his hands, and turned him toward her.

"Look at me," she demanded, "look at me!"

He diverted his eyes to the floor. The sight of her bloodied gloves and cap made him extremely nauseous again.

"You did everything that you could, Hawkeye."

"It wasn't good enough, Margaret. That kid's blood is still on my hands..."

She looked at him sternly as more tears rolled down her cheeks. "I know. And no amount of washing will ever get it to go away."

With that, Hawkeye sulked to the corner of the room, and let his feet slide out from under him until he was sitting on the floor. He put his hands to his face and sobbed.

Because Margaret was all too right.


End file.
